Merasmus Meets the Internet
by robotiger
Summary: I realize it sounds ridiculous, but trust me. It makes sense. Sort of. Basically, our favorite old gal Merasmus is an idiot and he needs to clean up his act. Because the RED team certainly isn't appreciating his nonsense. But, maybe- just maybe- you'll appreciate it. Hopefully. (T for language is all.)
1. Chapter 1

**[[Alrighty, so. This is just by me, Alex; this time Kara and I didn't write in tandem. Just FYI since we will post solo fics, too. Although, Kara was (and always is) a large resource for the most amazing support and wonderful feedback, so give her some credit too, alright? I'm not finished yet, but hopefully- soon- I will be. If you have any (polite) constructive criticism, that'd be great to hear! (Especially about my sentence patterns; I want to know if the beats sound too repetitive, etc.) I hope you enjoy it!]]**

"Well _this _is just fuckin' weird."

Demoman was standing in the middle of the kitchen, frying pan in hand. Well, he was actually more off to the side, near the opening to the hallway that led to the stairs that led to the other hallway with the bedrooms on each side. The rest of the room was filled with nearly the entire RED team, most of them genuinely confused or disturbed, or you know, both.

Demoman was clad only in his bedtime kilt and, somehow, his black beanie. Scout always teased the Scotsman about how he lived in the hat, saying that it was to cover his bald spot because he was old. Demoman would always spit a rabbit-related insult at the younger merc whenever that happened.

Anyways, Soldier was fully clothed in his typical everyday army uniform and helmet, his rocket launcher lying against the dining table. A gigantic grin more crooked than the Administrator's heart was plastered across his face as he—probably—stared at Demoman from across the room.

Spy's top half was draped over the kitchen sink like a ragdoll, the tap water streaming violently down onto his cloth-wrapped head as he panted heavily. He sounded like he desperate for breath. Just below his waistline, his body split into eight different writhing pillars of maroon flesh. Suction cups sucked and snapped as Spy's tentacles waved about and slapped the walls and floor. "Mon Dieu," Spy gasped, throwing his head back and letting the water splash onto his face and wet his balaclava.

Sniper was sitting on the floor, his knees pulled up close to his chest with his head in his hands, still wearing his "red" (magenta) pinstriped pajamas. Searching for the source of the Aussie's strangely-occurring depression, Demoman looked closer with his one eye to see a thick, brown leather collar around Sniper's neck. A long leash wiggled off of it and onto the floor, coiled up right next to a huge bushy black tail sprouting from Sniper's tailbone. Two fluffy pointed ears were popping out of the top of Sniper's head, the same color as his hair, and they drooped downwards sadly.

Engineer was standing nonchalantly by Spy, remaining quiet as per usual. He looked the most normal in the room. Well, he would have, if it wasn't for the freakishly long giraffe-like neck emerging from his shoulders. On his face he wore a flat expression, seemingly unaware of the current situation in the RED base.

However, the awkward room was far from silent. In the center of the room stood a small man who looked exactly like a shorter version of Scout, save for the raven-black hair and thick sideburns. The man was wearing Medic's typical mercenary attire (sans glasses), which was much too big for him; the sleeves of the lab coat dripped off his arms like spaghetti and the scarlet tie dangled loosely from his thin neck.

"Shit!" he howled, fretfully trying to pull the large sleeves back up and fold them nicely. He had Scout's higher voice, but with Medic's thick German accent. "How d'you vear zhis shit all zhe time? And vhy can you only talk vith zhis dumbass Nazi dialect or vhatever?"

Demoman jumped as the miniscule abomination slapped himself in the face.

"Ow! Vhat vas that for!?" He massaged his cheek.

"Zhat vas for you being such an idiot," he hissed, talking to, apparently, no one but himself. "Und I _have_ to vear zhis. I'm a doctor, after all." He sighed grumpily when his expression jumped to one of stern assertiveness. "None of zhat. Scheiße," he crowed, "You are awful at zhis! No vonder zhey only gave you a plain tee shirt!" He was scolding himself at his own lack of talent in the sleeve-folding area. His tongue licked curiously at the gap between his two front teeth while he frustratedly fidgeted with his outfit.

"HELP! HEEEELP!"

The cry of a tiny child in distress emanated surprisingly loudly from the hallways. Demoman turned his head, not speaking a word; he was too shocked by the rest of the kitchen to react much.

"HEEELP!" The childish sobs echoed through the RED base, accompanied by thundering footsteps. Demoman was terrified.

Then, like a whale falling from the sky, Heavy hurtled out of nowhere (well actually from the stairwell), flying towards the kitchen and slamming on the brakes as he approached Demoman.

"Demoman, help me," the bearish man said. His bearish growl was missing, however. The infant-like voice was spilling from _his_ lips.

"It is Pyro," Heavy squeaked anxiously, fear burning in his eyes. He grabbed the limp Demoman in his monstrous hands and shook the Scotsman lightly but firmly in distress. "I open closet—Pyro is there. I open door, Pyro is there. I open DRAWER—_Pyro is there._"

Demoman was trying his hardest to listen, but the sheer freakishness of his entire morning had gotten to him. All that came from his lips was a breathy mumble: "I'm ne'er getting' sober agin."

"Look!" Heavy shouted, his voice still as high as though he had converted his bedroom into a helium gas chamber. The man rushed over to the fridge, yanking the door open with a violent pull.

There, inside the fridge, squished between two shelves, was Pyro, sitting in a cross-legged position with his chin in his hands.

Heavy looked up nervously at Demoman, panic rapidly overcoming him as his breathing quickened. A retching noise came from Spy's direction, and that's when Demoman snapped out of it.

"BLOODEH FUCKIN' CRISPS!" He howled loudly, interrupting the schizophrenic conversation of the anonymous mousey man in the middle of the room, causing Sniper to jump and making Spy glance up from his sink water.

"I ain't gonna have inny more a' this! I wanna know EXA'TLY wha' happened, _right now!"_ He whirled around, his kilt spinning as he pivoted. He was pointing his pan threateningly at the shocked crowd gathered in the kitchen, Heavy still standing timidly behind him.

"I—I just don't know," Sniper moaned, still moping on the floor. "I w's gonna git up for me morning coffee, you know—the usual. I sat up in me bed upstaihs, when I felt somethin' tuggin' at me neck—" he raised his chin and curled his fingers around the chocolate-colored leather—"an' I tried t'find a way t'get it off me. Doesn't 'ave a clip, or a switch, or nothin'. Stuck around me neck like cement." He sighed. "And I ain't gonne try t'use my kukri so close t'my throat, you wankers. Not t'mention, I got _these_ bloody things poppin' outta me." He pointed aggressively at the doggish ears perking up from his head and the furry wolf's tail sticking out of his rear.

"I vas just—No! Let me tell him first! No, _I _vill tell him—and anyvays, it doesn't _matter _who tells him, because—"

"SHUT UP!" Demoman yelled, surprising the runt. "TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED ALRIDDY!"

Nearly shivering, the small man answered shyly. "Vell, I, uh—_ve_—both vent to bed last night like normal. Vhen ve voke up, ve vere in zhe infirmary, vith no clothes on, looking like zhis." Upon finishing his story, he stared frightfully back up into Demoman's critical eyes. "Oh, ja," he shrugged, raising his eyebrows as he nodded. "Und I am Medic—and _I'm_ Scout," he ended with a snarl, looking down at his stomach as though someone was there. "Vhat_ever_," he sassed.

Demoman was in the middle of letting out an utterly agonized groan when Spy's words cut him off short.

"I went to bed, right?" he gasped, peering over his shoulder while still trying to stay in the water. "But zhen, during zhe middle of zhe night, I felt very sirsty. I needed a drink. I got up to get a glass of it, but I couldn't. Zhere was zhis kind of green… _glow_ coming off of me," he said with an obscure look of confusion. "I don't know what it was. But I passed out and when I came back up, I had _zhese_ disgusting sings for legs and I was dying for water." His head lolled unceremoniously when he turned back to the faucet.

There was a long moment of silence before anyone spoke again.

"Engineer? D'ye have innythin' t'say about wha' happened t'_you_?"

"Nope," Engineer replied, almost unmoving except for his lips.

Demoman squinted his eye. "Are ye _sure_?"

"Nope."

"Bloodeh—what do ye mean, _no_?"

"Nope."

"FUCKIN'—"

Demoman stopped when an enormous hand rested gently on his shoulder. The dark man turned his head.

"It is okay, Demoman," Heavy peeped angelically. "It is only Engineer. Maybe that is all he can say."

Demoman sighed. "I'm guessin' you woke up with a baby voice, then?"

Heavy nodded solemnly.

Demoman growled, looking up at the ceiling and curling his fingers in distress. "Fine," he spat, turning back around. "Pyro's not gonna tell us anythin', tha's fer sure. But _you._" Demo squinted his big brown eye and pointed his index finger sternly at the Soldier, who was now crouched under the chair on the other side of the kitchen. "_You _tell me why you were smilin' this mornin', and you tell me _everythin' you bloodeh know._"

Soldier gulped.


	2. Chapter 2

"Well, uh, comrades," Soldier started, a nervous chuckle jumping out of his throat as he came out from under the chair and rose to his full height. He spread out his hands in a failure of a sign of peace. "I was smiling because I, uh…" He paused, grasping for the right words to say. "I just thought it was funny."

Demoman had hardly moved his jaw when Sniper snapped out.

"_Funny_!? You thought me bein' a bloody _dog_ was funny?" His ears flattened and a low growl, deeper than Heavy's normal voice, rattled out from his clenched teeth. He rose to his feet, his ears flat and tail lashing, the end of the leash lifting slightly off of the floor. "I'll give you bloody _funny_ when I slice yer head off durin' ceasefire and we play _ping-pong_ with it."

Soldier backed up, panic tugging at the corners of his lips while Sniper stepped menacingly towards him.

"NO!" Demoman hollered, causing Sniper to swiftly turn his head while Soldier trembled. "No hurtin' 'im, even though he's a bloodeh fuckin'—" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in an attempt to relax. "We jis' need his help, Sniper, if we wanna know wha' happened. We all know 'e's lyin'."

Sniper's brow was furrowed angrily, and he continued to analyze Demoman with his eyes even when the Scotsman had stopped talking. Finally, he just snorted and turned away from the fretful soldier, flicking his tail and going back to lean against the wall where he had been sitting.

"Well?" Demoman continued, raising his eyebrows and folding his arms. He glared expectantly at the moronic warrior.

"Alright, alright," Soldier gave in, bowing his head and lifting his hands up. "I'm sorry. It's not _my_ fault you're all fruit-fucking, scum-sucking—"

Sniper cut in with a ripping snarl.

"—gentlemen of fine taste," Soldier finished. Demoman just rolled his eye. "Ahem. Well anyways… It wasn't me. It was Merasmus."

Demoman nearly choked. "Your roommate? Th'bloodeh '_wizard_' who took me _EYE_!?" He was pointing vigorously at his eye-patch.

"Y- Yes," Soldier conceded. "Well, uh… You see, Demo… I was _framed_."

"What—what d'ye—"

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Medic—or Scout—or both—who really knows—butted in. He shuffled quickly up to the tall American dressed in red before slapping him violently. "You vere not _framed_, you imbecile," he grumbled. "Oh yeah? Vhat if he vas? Vell you know vhat, he doesn't even have a reason to _be_ framed, so—"

"They're right," Soldier interrupted. The half-pint shut up. "It was _just_ Merasmus. He had a weird little box that looked like a T.V. but had buttons like a robot." Everyone in the room except for Engineer and Pyro looked genuinely disbelieving, but Soldier continued. "I asked him what it was. Said it was a 'kung-pow-tour', or something. He said it was from another dimension, in the future, and there was a thing beyond all his power called the 'intern-ed'. I think it's for helping college kids find dumb jobs, instead of being _real_ men and women of America." Everyone remained silent, and he coughed. "And, uh, he showed me pictures of you guys, sort of the way you are now. Merasmus thought it was cute." He shrugged. "I don't even know. Anyways, he started doing his magical hoopla and I asked him what he was doing and he said he was trying to make the intern-ed closer to reality and—"

"So you just _let him _turn me into an ABOMINATION!?" Spy shrieked, leaning over from the sink for a few grand moments of fury, before having to retire to go back under the stream of tap water. He still continued to glare, though.

"Well, no," Soldier shrugged. He swallowed. "I was gonna hit him with my shovel, but he did a little tap-dance thing and disappeared."

The entire room was entirely silent, save for the trickling of sink water and the light hum of the fridge.

Heavy was the one who spoke. "What?"

"I don't know!" Soldier cried out, flinging his arms to his sides. "I have no idea! You know what—I bet that dumb Merasmus went back to that boring place he used to stay with the old ladies everywhere, and they were knitting, and he was really bad at knitting so he tried to use his magic but—"

"Alright, nobody _cares_!" Demoman spat out before Soldier could continue. "Innyway—we're goin' ta have ta find tha' fuckin' witch an' make him fix e'eryone, alright?"

Medic and Scout cheered and Sniper grunted with a nod. Spy raised a hand with a thumbs-up, but Heavy spoke first.

"Demoman—we cannot all go to find wizard. Pyro is stuck in fridge, probably. Spy needs water and Engineer can't do anything."

"Ohh," Demoman grumbled, slapping his forehead with the base of his palm. He sighed. "Fine. Heavy, yer comin' with me an' Soldier. I need someone _sane_ comin' with me. Everyone else, _stay here_," he emphasized, "Or I'll kill the lot a' you." He turned to Sniper. "I'd take ye wi'me, but the combined shrimp-midgets over here are gonna need some supervision." He gestured to the pouting Medic and Scout. "An' if Spy can't even leave the sink, Engineer can't talk for shit, an' Pyro's stuck in the fridge, well. Someone's gonnae have ta stay behind."

"Right-o, boss," Sniper said curtly, a nod included. He mocked Soldier's American salute. His tail lashed with pride when he heard Soldier grunt in irritation.

"Alright, here we go," Demoman sighed, beckoning Heavy and Soldier to the door with a wave of his hand. "I'm gonna pu' on the rest o' my uniform an' I'll be with ya in a moment. Heavy, watch him." Heavy nodded agreeably and clasped Soldier's shoulders tightly in his hands while Demoman trudged upstairs, moaning.


	3. Chapter 3

Demoman, Soldier, and Heavy hadn't been out the door for more than two minutes when Medic and Scout started arguing again. They were standing on a stool, desperately reaching for the handle on the snack cabinet.

"Scheiße, Scout! Vhy are you so hungry all zhe time? Is this how you normally feel? I don't know! Vhy are _you_ so _annoying_ all zhe time? Ach! I am _not_! Vhat am I doing zhat vould make you think—"

Their babbling continued as Sniper sighed, sitting in a chair at the dining table, his head in his hands again. He slowly raised his head, then pawing at the collar snugly hugging his neck. It was smooth, but to him it was as rough as sandpaper. Tormented, Sniper ran a hand through his hair, stopping when his calloused fingers touched the pointed ears on top. He threw his hands up in the air, letting out a wail of anguish, and plunked his head down onto the table, tail drooping.

There was a moment of silence as Medic and Scout stood quietly, squinting, with a giant bag of nacho chips in their hands. "You—you _are_ gonna let me eat zhis, right? None of your dumb unhealzhy-doctor stuff zhis time?" They took a deep breath. "No, I guess not. You—vell, _ve_, I guess—are practically starving. I at least know zhat _I_ can't go on much longer like zhis." They sighed in relief. "Thanks, doc." They popped open the bag of chips, sat down on the little wooden stool, and started munching on their snack.

The sink sputtered and dribbled to a stop, and a violent clank sounded from under the drain, terrifying Spy. He started choking and made for the fridge, dying for more water. He opened the creaky white door, but all that was in the fridge was Pyro looking like he was sitting by a campfire.

"Merde!" Spy choked, doubling over as his gloved hands grasped at his throat. Medic and Scout had paused from their munching and Sniper was looking up, ears perked up in interest. "Merde, merde, _merde_," Spy gasped. He looked over his shoulder at Sniper. "Sniper, help me. Please," his voice was dying out like he was dehydrating in the desert.

Sniper rose swiftly from his seat, dashing over to Spy and leaning over, his hands outstretched in a sign of comfort. "Whattaya need, mate? More water? How 'bout we go upstairs, then, and get you inta th'bathroom, 'ey?"

Spy could hardly nod while he gulped for breath. Sniper wrapped his arms around Spy's torso, lifting him up ungracefully while the suction cups stuck infuriatingly to the floor. Spy managed to pull his limbs from the ground, and Sniper grunted a thank-you, turning and dashing upstairs to the bathrooms. Medic and Scout just sat quietly in awe, a chip still in their hand, Engineer leaning coolly against the countertop with a totally calm expression on his high head.

"There," Sniper huffed, nearly out of breath as he smiled at Spy, who was almost collapsed in the bathtub while water ran in. The tentacles grasped eagerly at the water pipe, virtually a separate entity from the exhausted Frenchman's top half. He eventually regained his breath as more water came into the porcelain box, and he fretfully began unbuttoning the tight red vest sitting over his white shirt.

"Oh!" Sniper said, startled, and he took a step back. Spy sighed and waved him back over with a meaty sea limb.

"Help me get zhis off. I am not about to have my suit _ruined_ in zhis tap water. I already ruined my mask."

Sniper hesitatingly complied, helping Spy unbutton the vest and then the light shirt underneath. Spy groaned when he saw red scales littering his chest in small patches.

"Merci," he said to Sniper, who stepped back purposefully this time. Spy ripped the gloves off his hands with a grunt of pain. Underneath, his hands were entirely covered in red scales, with white claws tipping his fingers and pinkish membranes spreading like fins between each digit. He stared at them like they were on fire.

"Uh—"

"Go get dressed," Spy snarled, not allowing Sniper to make any comments. He shoved his hands down into the water as if to hide them in the transparency. "You look like an idiot."

Sniper gulped and nodded, turning and then shuffling rapidly out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Spy sighed in exasperation, pulling his hands back out of the water to examine them sadly one more time.


	4. Chapter 4

The three musketeers drove slowly down the bumpy road, none of them speaking a word.

Well, actually, it was one insane bazooka guy, one drunken demolitions expert and one giant dude with a minigun and a baby voice, but "three musketeers" is close enough.

The only vehicle in the RED base's area besides Ms. Pauling's—Sniper's van—slowed to a stop. It was a slow, grinding stop; a stop that would make one sense and feel the sluggish, dreadful agony and hear the aching, tired creaks.

Quite fitting for stopping at a nursing home, don't you think?

"Alrigh'," Demoman grunted, yanking out the key and shoving the door open. His boots crunched in the dry sand that was the road leading to Gray Lady's Nursing Home. Heavy came out of the door of the passenger seat, and Soldier slid out of his middle seat after the Russian.

Demoman turned and looked up at the desolate building. A crow squawked in the distance. "Eh… Y'sure this is where we'll find him, Soldier?"

Heavy, although his voice was unthreatening, loomed intimidatingly over Soldier, who answered Demoman quickly. "Aye-aye, captain! He was here once one time when I was eating popcorn and—"

"Dandy," Demoman breathed in, cutting Soldier off before anything even more irritating happened. He placed his fists on his hips and grinned at the building. "We'll have e'eryone fixed soon enough. Otherwise, I'll wring his bloodeh neck like a washcloth."

Soldier shrugged nervously and Demoman nodded. Demoman walked in through the cheap sliding doors first, and Heavy ushered Soldier in behind him.

As the three mercenaries entered, a rather gaunt woman who could've used the home herself sat at the front desk. She was old and shriveled like a gross raisin, with those librarian glasses with the strings on them. She wore a gray suit with tears at the seams. Her crooked scarlet lipstick stood out horrifically against the corpse-like rest of her.

"Yyyyess?" she droned. Demoman grimaced when she looked up. He wasn't sure if she considered herself to have her eyes open or closed, but either way, she looked like a ghoul.

"Aye, we uh—we're here to see th'witch ladeh."

Slowly but surely, her eyelids lifted a miniscule section of a centimeter in pure horror and shock. "Thhe… witch… lady…?"

"Um, yeah," Soldier butted in, earning himself a glare from Demoman. "She looks like a chimpanzee with a skull hat. Named Merasmus."

"Ooohhhhhh!" the old woman screamed(?), rising shakily from her chair and shuffling away. She hadn't moved a foot, but her arms were still stretched out in front of her and she was letting out breathy gasps of fear.

"Um, ohh-key then," Demo mumbled to his teammates. Soldier was staring at the old woman in confusion and Heavy simply looked flabbergasted. "Mebbe we sh'd look around in the rooms," the bomber added. "Seems like 'e's bin 'ere."

"Sure does," Soldier nodded before he brushed Heavy's guarding hands away from himself. He stepped forward confidently, a strong frown molded into his chin. "Let's go, maggots."

Before Demoman could argue with Soldier's choice of words, the American let out a battle cry like a vulgar gorilla and charged to the left and down the first hallway with an enormous grin on his face. He stopped at the first to doors, slamming one open with the heel of his boot and the other with his right fist. Horrified screams—or, you know, high-pitched whispers—of old women sounded from the hallway.

"SORRY, LADIES!" Soldier hollered, terrifying the poor ancient civilians even more. "JUST LOOKING FOR MY GREEN MONKEY WIZARD ROOMMATE!"

Upon the severely high volume of Soldier's unnecessary screaming, the rest of the old ladies in their rooms began shrieking as well, even with their doors closed. Only one scream was different from the rest. It was a somewhat manly scream; an old scream to be sure, but it sounded like the scream of a fifty-year-old smoker with bladder problems.

Merasmus.

"Hey-HO!" Soldier whooped as he singled out Merasmus' apartment door, taking a few steps back and then charging head-on into the gray-painted, _locked_ entry wall.

Demoman stood silently in shock. He was gaping at the radical, overdramatic scene that was occurring in front of him. Heavy was just staring at the tired old reception lady, who had moved about one and a half or two feet total during this time. She was still screaming.

Soldier stormed out of Merasmus' room like a real trooper, smiling maniacally with a writhing, spitting Merasmus clutched tightly under his arm.

"MOVE OUT, MEN!" Soldier yelled cheerfully, gesturing a half-salute above his helmet for his comrades to get out of there, and fast. The four of them quickly leaped into the car, where Heavy punched the glove box open and Soldier pulled out a roll of duct tape to seal Merasmus' mouth and bind his wrists, preventing any spellcasting from occurring during their ride back.

As the back tires of the camper van screeched in the dirt, the men peered out their windows and saw the old gray lady still shuffling along in terror.

"Alrigh', we're outta here," Demoman stated, shifting into drive and veering off the tiny path, back towards the base.


	5. Chapter 5

Scout and Medic were sticking their fingers around in the bottom of the bag of chips, trying to pick up any crumbs possibly left over. They were still sitting on the tiny brown stool next to Engineer. Several times they had offered him a chip, but every time they did so he declined, unmoving from his leaning position against the table. His loss. More chips for them.

Sniper was in his bedroom, about to change into a new pair of clothes, rather than his ridiculous-looking pajamas. He had closed the door behind him and he was sturdily standing with his feet spread apart as wide as his shoulders, his fingers opening and closing like they were having trouble deciding whether or not to be fists.

He glanced around, eyes wavering nervously; he was doing to have to cut a hole in whichever pair of pants he chose because of the tail. Bloody fantastic.

Fine. He was going to _keep_ the pajama pants on. It wasn't Spy's problem, anyways. It was Sniper's.

Although, it _was_ true that he wanted to wear some tolerable-looking clothes on that day, rather than the pinstriped pajamas his mother had sent him. He would at least change his shirt.

He brought his sweaty palms up to the hem of his shirt and tore it over his shoulders and off his head, which he shook vigorously once the shirt was in his hands. He never understood why pajama designers would put two or three buttons by the neck but none underneath. He had to pull the leash through the head opening of the shirt in order to be free of the pink stripes.

Flinging the shirt onto his bed—the bottom bunk, since Scout insisted that it was his right as the younger mercenary to have the top bunk—Sniper stepped forwards toward his closet and reached out for a RED collared shirt. As soon as his fingertips came into contact with the fabric, a flash of green light nearly blasted his eyes out and the shirt flew across the room, slapping against the wall and falling onto Scout's bed.

"What the bloody—"

Sniper turned back around to the closet and stared analytically at the rest of the shirts. He squinted harshly before he lunged his hand forward and grabbed another RED shirt like lightning.

In almost the same instant, a flash of green emanated from the shirt and it shot off the hanger and across the room, dragging a shrieking Sniper with it.

It soared violently through the stuffy bedroom air, flying fast enough so that Sniper could hardly let go without severely injuring himself. His foot smacked the lamp on the nightstand by his bed, and he had to do an almost-split to avoid smacking into a bedpost.

The seams on the shirt began to tear, and as Sniper reached out an arm to grab the closet door, they snapped apart and he tumbled to the ground with a thud. Before he could run out the door and down the stairs, the shirt scraps zipped up to the leash handle, yanking him towards the bed by his throat and speedily wrapping the end of the leash around the bedpost faster than a rocket-powered zebra on ice skates.

"Hey! What the—" Sniper tugged at the leash on the bedpost. It was tied incredibly tightly, and the knot could've been tied by magic it was so complicated. It probably was.

Sniper glanced over at the nightstand, where he always kept his kukri at night. When the lamp had tumbled off the surface and shattered on the floor, it had pushed his knife off too; the auburn-handled knife had spun on the hard floor and was in the corner of the room, underneath his bed.

The dog-man leaned forward as far as the leash would go, which wasn't far; a foot or two at most. He stretched his woolly arm out eagerly, fingers quivering as they tried to grasp for the knife handle.

Still a few feet left between the flesh and the blade.

Sniper lowered himself completely onto the floor, spinning his body around and sticking his legs out as far as they would go. He would pull it over with his toes and cut himself free of the bedpost.

He managed to get his big toe close enough to the knife to lightly tap it; as soon as he did so, there was another viridian laser beam. The kukri blazed a sickly green and Sniper cried out, yanking his feet closer to his body and moving from the side of the bed to the front of it. Sniper's sharp machete rattled on the floor before it zoomed out from under the bed, rising a few feet in the air and turning to point at him.

"Oh, no," he breathed, ears flat and tail fur on end. Chills ran down his spine and the hair on the back of his neck prickled his skin. He scrambled to lower himself to the ground and hide under the bed, but the leash held him back.

"HELP!" he howled, praying that maybe someone in the base would hear him through his closed door and over Spy's running water. "HELP ME! SOMEONE!" The kukri flung itself at him, slamming into the wall as he ducked. He shuffled quickly across the ground, moving about swiftly so he would be too fast for the knife. "ANYONE! HELP ME OUT, HERE!"

Merasmus' eyes were smoking neon-green wisps of whatever-it-was, and he was writhing back and forth, squished tightly between Soldier and Heavy in the van. His muffled screams emanated fairly loudly, and he was bouncing up and down on the seat, shaking his head back and forth like he had rabies.

"Should we un-duct-tape his mouth? 'Cause I think he's trying to tell us something."

Demoman was about to decline when he glanced in the mirror and saw Merasmus fretfully nodding like he was head-banging at a heavy metal concert.

"Fine," he sighed, and Merasmus gasped deeply when Soldier ungracefully tore off the duct tape.

His eyes were still steaming an ill green. "_Demoman!_ Speed us up, you moron! And untie my hands! If you leave enchanted objects unattended for too long, they get minds of their own!"

Demoman snorted when Merasmus interrupted him. "You of all people should know that. You remember Bombonomicon."


	6. Chapter 6

Scout and Medic glanced up from the salty fingers they were licking.

Was that… Sniper?

"Hey, doctor—do you think zhat's Sniper? You hear zhat too, right? Of course I do, you shtupid idiot. Ve have zhe same ears. Hey! You know vhat, I'm just trying to be nice here—"

Medic suddenly jerked up from the seat into a standing position, which surprised Scout (their face seemed shocked that they were standing) and the German interrupted Scout's rambling. "It doesn't matter, Scout. If zhat _is_ Sniper, ve need to help him. Now." They remained silent for a moment before Scout answered. "You're right. Let's go check it out."

They swerved around the table and scurried down the hallway, pivoting with quite a bit of dexterity to the stairs and bolting up them.

Over the loud rush of water in the bathroom, the fearful wails of the dog-man hit Scout and Medic's ears. The two of them nearly tripped over themselves as they rushed towards Sniper's room, contrary to their previous coordination at the bottom of the stairwell. Brushing off their fault in stride, they continued onwards, throwing open Sniper's bedroom door.

Pyro was sitting peacefully smack in the center of the doorway.

"Vhat zhe—"

"HELP!" Sniper shrieked. He was shirtless and curled up on the corner of the top bunk where it connected to the bedpost. His leash provided little room for him to move about.

"Hey! Get off my bed! Vhat are you doing!?"

Rather than spitting an insult at Scout, Sniper pointed downwards, towards the ground.

Scout and Medic peered over the obtrusive Pyro's shoulder to get a better view; there, behind the big fireproof lug, was Sniper's giant knife, twirling in the air with a freakish glow trailing about it. It was quaking violently, seemingly attempting to aim itself at the traumatized man on the bedpost.

"Oh, shit," they spat, and they spun around Pyro and into the room, standing fearfully in awe of the enchanted kukri.

"GET IT!" Sniper howled as it came zooming towards him. He flung himself off the bed and the collar pulled tightly on his neck. He wheezed in pain and grasped at his throat as he regained his balance. It was then that Scout and Medic saw the multiple slashing cuts on Sniper's sides and biceps, where blood leaked faintly out of them. Thankfully, they didn't seem to be too deep, but the fact that they existed was troubling.

The knife was now wrenching itself out of the wood in the bedpost where it had struck so violently.

"Help me," Sniper gasped, fear brightening his eyes. Medic and Scout would've looked at each other if they didn't have the same eyes.

They leaped over to the bedpost, struggling agonizingly to untie the unbelievably tight knot that Sniper's leash was in. The fact that the leash had no clip on Sniper's collar meant that the only way to get him out of it was to cut it off.

"Are you zhinking vhat I am zhinking? Of course," they grinned. Sniper looked nervous.

The kukri wrenched itself free of the furniture; splinters wafted out of the new hole and drifted to the floor. It whirled around and aimed back at the wolfish being who stood shivering in the room's center.

The knife began to rattle and shake before its terrorizing liftoff.

"Mates, I know _you_ know what you're thinkin', but see, _I_ 'ave no idea—"

Scout and Medic shoved Sniper aside (as far as he could go) just as the mossy-colored light soared down towards them. Their petite fingers and draping sleeves wrapped around the leash and yanked it about ninety degrees from its original position. The blazing kukri blasted through the rawhide, slicing it into two. Only a foot of leather rope was left attached to Sniper's collar at that point; he gaped at the shredded buckskin before Scout and Medic rushed to usher him out of the room while the knife remained to writhe on the floor, infuriated by its failure.

Scout, Medic and Sniper swerved around Pyro, turning about and slamming the heavy door shut before any more disaster occurred.

"Sorry, mate," Sniper mumbled to the mumbler before the door smacked closed in the gas-masked face.

Medic and Scout sighed in relief and the back of their head tapped the closed door lightly. They smiled. "Great job. I didn't know you could zhink like zhat, Scout. Yeah, vell. I can be pretty smart, sometimes."

Sniper just shook his head and sighed before slowly sinking to the floor to rest after his lacerating endeavor.


End file.
